


and life was never worse but never better

by bluejayblueskies



Series: guiltless [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angry Kissing, Angst, Arguing, Canon Compliant, Character Study, M/M, Pre-The Unknowing (The Magnus Archives), Sort Of, The Unknowing (The Magnus Archives), oops its all angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26247565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejayblueskies/pseuds/bluejayblueskies
Summary: Didn't they tell us don't rush into things?Didn't you flash your green eyes at me?Haven't you heard what becomes of curious minds?It's all fun and games 'til somebody loses their mindIn which the Unknowing is on the horizon, and the dark of the night allows for final ruminations on words better left unsaid.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Series: guiltless [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906735
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34
Collections: The Magnus Archives Flash Fanwork Challenge





	and life was never worse but never better

**Author's Note:**

> The week 7 work for the Magnus Archives Flash Fanwork Challenge. Information on the challenge can be found [here](https://magnus-mailday.dreamwidth.org/)

_So we went on our way  
Too in love to think straight  
All alone or so it seemed  
But there were strangers watching  
And whispers turned to talking  
And talking turned to screams_

* * *

They all have separate rooms at the bed and breakfast in Great Yarmouth, which Tim counts as a small miracle. The beds are hard and the walls are painted a sickly yellow that reminds Tim of rot and decay, but at least he doesn’t have to deal with Daisy’s barely-hidden bloodlust, or Basira’s unnerving levelheadedness, or Jon’s…

Or Jon. Full stop.

So when the knock comes on his door, he really, _really_ doesn’t want to open it. But it comes again, more insistent, so Tim does, if only to tell the person on the other side to _go away._

It’s Jon, because of course it is. At some point, he’d changed out of his stiff work clothes into a soft t-shirt and dark sweatpants. Tim’s pretty sure that shirt was his, once. How things change.

“What do you want?” Tim says, trying for bitterness but falling short and landing on _tired._ God, he’s so tired.

“I just.” Jon rubs a hand over his upper arm, clutching it like a lifeline. “I wanted to talk. Before tomorrow.”

Talk. Like they can even do that anymore without it turning into an argument. But it really is now or never, huh? So Tim steps aside with a sigh and gestures for Jon to come in. Jon does, after a moment’s hesitation, and the door swings shut behind him.

“Right,” Jon says; he stands in the middle of the room, his arms folded across his chest in a protective gesture that makes him seem smaller than he is. “I… I suppose I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page. About tomorrow, that is.”

Tim leans against the wall. “It’s not complicated. We go in, we set up some bombs, and we blow it up. I hear sawdust burns well.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Jon says in a low tone.

“Oh?” Tim says, crossing his arms in a mirror image of Jon. “Do I _know_ that? Goodness, maybe _I’m_ the one with voyeuristic eye powers now—“

“ _Tim._ ” There’s more bite this time, and that’s good, Tim thinks. Soon, they’ll be arguing, and it’s always easier to hate Jon when they’re arguing. “I know why you’re here. I know what you think is going to happen tomorrow. And I need you to understand that that’s _not_ why I brought you along.”

“No, I don’t think _you_ understand. This isn’t about you. Hell, this isn’t even about _me._ This is about that damn circus, and keeping the world from becoming some surreal hellscape, and _finally_ getting closure for what happened to my brother. So whatever happens tomorrow, I’m sure as hell going to make sure that that museum doesn’t survive. And I don’t think it’s going to make it easy on us.”

“Tim, I am not going to let you _sacrifice yourself_ to—“

“You don’t get to ‘let me’ do anything!” Tim pushes off from the wall and takes a few steps toward Jon; for Jon’s part, he doesn’t even flinch, just sets his jaw and matches Tim’s glare in intensity. “And don’t pretend like you care. You burned that bridge _long_ ago.”

“Christ, Tim, of _course_ I care! Maybe we- we can’t go back to how things were, but I never stopped caring! I don’t know how to convince you that I don’t want you to _die._ ”

“Do you think I _want_ to die?”

Jon looks startled. “I… what?”

Something heavy presses on Tim’s chest, something deeply unwanted but too great a weight for him to shake. “Sorry to ruin whatever speech you had planned, but yeah. If I thought we could pull this off all in one piece, alive and patting ourselves on the back for a job well done, I’d be all in. But I don’t think we can. Not without sacrificing something else, and I’m not willing to let _any_ part of the circus survive. Not when we have a chance to destroy it for good. So when things go sideways, I plan to do whatever it takes to finish the job. And yeah, I probably won’t survive whatever that is. I’ve… I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. Maybe since Covent Garden. And it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

Jon’s quiet for a long time. His hair is slipping from the messy bun he’s pulled it into, loose curls pooling against his neck and the sides of his face, and an old instinct in Tim wants to reach out and tuck them back into place. The weight in his chest grows heavier, and his hands stay where they are.

Then, very quietly, Jon says, “I… I’m sorry, Tim.”

“I don’t need your _apology,_ Jon—“

“Just,” Jon says, interrupting him firmly. “Just listen. Please.” He takes a deep breath, like he, too, has a weight on his chest, and continues, “I- I know that apologizing won’t make a difference. That we need more time to fix things, if- if they can be fixed at all. And I _want_ to fix things, Tim. But I- I just don’t have the _time._ ” He runs a hand over his face, pinches the bridge of his nose. “So yes. I’m sorry. I want to give you more—so much more. You… you deserve so much more. But I… I don’t think this is the kind of world where people get what they deserve.” Jon takes a step toward Tim, and for a moment, Tim thinks Jon’s going to reach for him, but Jon seems to think better of it, arms remaining at his sides. “Your death isn’t a price _I’m_ willing to pay, but… but I understand. So can we… can we just not fight, tonight?”

The weight is so heavy Tim can barely breathe. He knows how easy it would be to cast it off, to stuff all of those emotions deep down, where he can’t think about them. Where they’re safer. Instead, he takes as deep a breath as he can muster and says, “Fine.” Then: “Still want to talk?”

Jon lets out a weighted breath of his own. “Probably best if we don’t. I… I’m not really sure we can, anymore.”

Tim can’t argue with that. So he lets the weight consume him entirely and pulls Jon to him.

Kissing him is still as easy as breathing, after everything. But where before it had tasted of sweet roses and warm summer nights, now it tastes of bitter salt and the metallic tang of loss and regret. From the way Jon grips at his arms, hands fisting in the thick material of Tim’s sweatshirt like if he lets go, he’ll fall, Tim knows he can taste it too. But there’s nothing to do about it now, Tim supposes. They can’t get back what they lost. What Jon destroyed. Though, if Tim’s being honest—which he might as well be, in these last few hours—he hadn’t really tried, in the end. To ‘fix things.’ This, Tim thinks, will have to do.

The space where Jon had lain, curled against Tim’s side on the bed, is empty but still warm to the touch when Tim wakes the next morning, and that’s just as well. Harder to hide things in the warm glow of morning light. Easier to see flaws, to dig just past the surface and expose every facet of a fractured connection, spiderwebbed cracks laced through fragile glass, moments from shattering entirely.

The light really is nice, Tim thinks as he packs the last of his things, then throws them in the bin on his way out of the room. The way it bounces off the windows of the bed and breakfast, refracting gentle patterns on the sidewalk as they exit the building. The shadows it casts across their faces, equal parts grim and apprehensive, as they make their way to the museum. The warmth it provides, caressing his skin with gentle fingers until it gives way to cold, lifeless rooms filled with cold, lifeless figures.

It really is a beautiful morning to die.

Reality bends, and it’s fitting, really, that Jon’s is the last true face he sees before it ends. One last reminder of everything he’s lost.

He just wishes it didn’t hurt so much.

He presses the button, and everything goes dark.

* * *

_I reached for you but you were gone  
I knew I had to go back home  
You searched the world for something else  
To make you feel like what we had  
And in the end in wonderland we both went mad_

**Author's Note:**

> lyrics are from Wonderland by Taylor Swift
> 
> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated <3
> 
> find me on tumblr [@bluejayblueskies](https://bluejayblueskies.tumblr.com/)


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